


Peace of Mind

by sailboatsupernova



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Outbound Flight - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fix-It, Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-30 10:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12106584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailboatsupernova/pseuds/sailboatsupernova
Summary: Against all the odds, they had survived theFlight'scrash. It's a miracle, but when Thrass finally gets into contact with home he learns that the worst has occurred - that Thrawn is gone, exiled. Determined to find him, he's willing to give up his life, his home, to scourer the galaxy, all for the opportunity to see his brother again. There's only one problem: Thrass has never been beyond the borders of Chiss Space and what lies beyond is more daunting than he will admit.Luckily he won't be going alone.





	Peace of Mind

**Author's Note:**

> They deserved better.
> 
> **Warning for blood and the physical ramifications of channeling the Force for things you're not actually skilled enough to use it for yet.**

The first thing Thrass notices is how unforgiving the floor beneath him is. It's cold, hard, and his back aches as if he had been lying there for hours. There's a spot right between his shoulder blades that has gone numb, the skin tingling as if he's being jabbed with needles. 

It's agonizing but despite that he doesn't want to move. Everything is so fuzzy around the edges of his own mind. He feels tired and his limbs are heavy, bruised and battered, and he doesn't even know _why_. Despite the cold seeping into his skin and the vague, distant sense that something is wrong, he just wants to go back to sleep. 

The idea of rest right now feels more appealing than it ever has in the past. More than it ever should, really. 

But his eyes are still closed and he's drifting right on the edge of consciousness. It would be easy to just slip that last little bit back into sleep. 

A thought, small and distant, forms in the back of his mind. It's fueled by fear - an irrational anxiety that there is a very good reason that he not just shouldn't, but  _cannot_ sleep right now. Though he finds himself incapable of pinpointed the exact reason as to why in his own muddled mind, and pushes the thought aside even as it makes his stomach coil in warning. 

If he could only relax long enough, ignore the soreness in his body for just a moment he would be able to drift off. 

Something wet drops onto his face and it startles him enough to make him open his eyes. 

A pair of wide eyes stare back. 

The sight is enough to frighten him into further awareness. He blinks reflexively, muscles tightening in preparation to run--

Something in his leg twinges and an aborted gasp of pain escapes his lips just as the figure above him makes a sound of relief. 

Another splash of wetness hit his cheek and he finally breaks eye contact to study the rest of this person's face. The woman - and he _knows_ that she is familiar, and he digs for a name to go with the face - is positioned over him, kneeling down beside him. Her nose is bleeding, and the red liquid is dripping down from the tip of her nose onto his face in fat drops. 

 _Lorana_ , his mind finally calls out in answer. _Lorana Jinzler_. 

He is relieved at the recognition and memories begin to slide into place. Of the Jedi woman, the ship, its crash--

 _The crash._ They should have been dead - had they moved to a different area and he could not remember? Had they not crashed at all? His body certainly felt as if they had been in a crash, and he couldn't think of another reason as to why he would wake up on a floor. 

No, they must have crashed, they had to have - and the ship had survived the impact against their own combined judgement. 

 _We should be dead._  

And yet, if his physical pain was to be believed, he was very much alive. 

Astoundingly, unarguably,  _alive_. 

Lorana herself looks equally relieved. A half smile starts to crawl across her face but it freezes, then disappears in an instant as something nearby creaks dangerously. 

His eyes dart towards the sound and it's then that he notices the slab of metal that Lorana is lifting up, holding it off of them with shaking arms. 

Thrass is struck with both awe and fear, a trickle of cold darting down his spine in a shiver of realization. 

That this woman has managed to keep such a weight off of them is astounding. Yet at the same time he can now see just how close they had come to being crushed to death. 

The thought of what might have happened if he had not woken up makes his stomach roll. 

A subtle movement catches his attention and he finds himself welcoming the distraction as he refocuses on Lorana's face. 

Her lips move and no sound escapes her mouth, but somehow he knows that he is hearing her voice. It's soft, strained with the weight of the fallen ceiling, but it is perfectly clear as if she had whispered it against his ear. 

" _Move_." 

He manages to get his arms to work, shifting and adjusting them until his palms are pressing against the hard, cold floor and he pushes until he feels himself scoot. Even that small movement is enough to set off a sharp stab pain in his leg and his vision swims. 

Something is definitely wrong. The worst case is that something is broken. 

He clenches his jaw in an attempt to bite back the throbbing pain, and he pushes himself up onto his elbows. It only makes it a little easier to drag himself out from under Lorana, but it is better than nothing. His own lack of knowledge as to how long she has been there on her knees, holding that weight, is enough to make him ignore the throbbing pain as he pushes himself. Soon he is out from below her but he doesn't stop moving until he hits the wall. 

With one final burst of energy he shoves himself into a sitting position with his back to the wall's surface. His leg is pounding in agony, but it is easier to just be grateful that he is out from underneath the deathtrap. 

Lorana, it seems, is not far behind him. 

She starts to move, slowly, shaking under the weight she's holding as she moves from her knees, gets one foot below herself and then the other. Thrass almost cannot watch her shuffle out from beneath the pile of rubble as it makes his own arms tense in sympathy. 

When she's finally to safety, she lets the whole slab drop the last few feet to the floor with a crash. Something near the top of the pile sparks once and Thrass's eyes are drawn upwards. 

He can see the hole in the ceiling and figures that that must be where the piece Lorana was holding came from. It's dark beyond the hole, but he can make out exposed wires, bent support beams and tubing, as well as ripped open vents. 

He once again finds himself in awe, but he won't trouble himself with attempting to figure out just what all Lorana had been supporting. 

He finds that the thought disturbs him more than he would like. 

Lorana herself is crawling towards him on her knees and elbows, limbs shaking with each movement. He offers her a hand when she's close enough, and she takes it, uses it to shift herself around until her back is propped up against the wall next to him. 

She is panting audibly, and Thrass cannot begin to imagine her exhaustion. 

"How long did you hold that weight?"

"I don't know." 

The change in position seems to make her bleeding worse and soon there is a steady stream of blood pouring from her nose. Thrass's arms are weak, but he manages to get them to move just enough to fish a dark handkerchief from his pocket. He holds it out to her, absently hoping that the red material will not stain easily. "Keep your head forwards and use this." 

Her fingers curl around the cloth and press it to her nose. Her shoulders are trembling even with the effort of staying sitting up, and Thrass knows that her own desire for rest must be triple his own. 

But they cannot fall asleep. Not yet, while she is still bleeding and his own body aches with foreboding. 

"The walls held on impact?" he says, trying to give them both something to concentrate on just long enough until he knows they won't slip into unconsciousness. 

"Looks like they were a lot stronger than we thought," Lorana responds. It almost sounds like an attempt at humor, but her tone falls flat. 

"Indeed." 

That they still have oxygen to breath is enough to prove just how severely they had underestimated the ship. 

They had expected to be killed upon impact. And instantaneous, painless death. 

And in reality the hull had not even been compromised. 

Thrass is grateful for their miscalculation. 

An odd sound escapes Lorana and he turns his head just enough to see her slumping forwards, shivering, as she braces her arms on her knees in an attempt to keep herself upright. His handkerchief is still held in her hand, but she is no longer holding it near her face. He watches in horror as a disturbing amount of blood streams from her nose before it slows back down to a steady drip. A layer of sweat breaks out across her face and neck, and it drips down to soak into the collar of her robe. 

"Lorana Jinzler?" he asks, voice soft in his worry. 

"I didn't know I could do that." Her voice is shallow, and she sucks in a deep breath of air. "I don't think I was supposed to be able to do that." 

Thrass feels as if he is missing a piece of vital information. He will not dare to push her for it though. "I do not understand." 

"Me neither," she responds, and she makes a noise that might have been a laugh if she could just catch her breath. "I don't understand any of this. The walls, the rubble. I don't know how long I was there, holding that above you, hoping that you would wake up." 

Her head falls back and it lolls over to the side towards him and despite her desperate outwards appearance, her eyes are remarkable bright as she stares back at Thrass. "We should have died." 

Thrass swallows down the lump that had been forming in his throat. "I know." 

Lorana nods and lifts the handkerchief back up to wipe at her nose. The bleeding seems to have slowed down significantly, but it is better to be safe that sorry. "I am glad you made it though." 

"The feeling is completely mutual." Thrass remarks. "I too am extremely grateful that our lives were spared." 

He sees something in Lorana's face shift and her eyebrows knit together in an expression of confusion and interest. "That's odd." 

"Perhaps the implication of some higher intervention was a bit strange," Thrass begins to offer but he tappers off when she starts to shake her head. 

"No, no. It's just that I was thinking the same thing, that we were _spared_." 

They both fall quiet at that. 

It's a thought that makes Thrass strangely nervous. He does not like to consider that their own fate had been out of their hands. He has never been one for religion, and while he knows that life is preferable over death, the idea that something had been controlling that decision - a decision that they had come to terms with - makes him shiver. 

He pushes the thought aside, and decides that a change of subject is in order. 

"You will have to tell me how you managed to save us." 

It's obvious, and as a politician is will admit that he could have done significantly better. As a man who has just had a brush with death though, he will pardon himself just this once. 

Regardless if his ploy has been noticed, she gives him a soft smile in response. "All right. But I think we should first focus on how we plan on getting out of here." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I haven't given up on this or anything it's just that I'm super busy and other fics have grabbed my attention (*cough cough* _Agony_ ). But one big thing that's stopping me is that I realized I'd have to address some stuff in this fic that I don't really want to, mainly how do the Flight natives react to Lorana and Thrass and how do they get off the ship? There's some other good Thrass/Lorana fcs on here now that talk about those issues, and they're great would highly recommend them, it's just that _I_ don't want to talk about it. But I remembered that this fic is supposed to be self-indulgent as all get out. So I'm going to try and just shuffle them off the ship as quickly as I can, because that's the stuff I want to talk about.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I told myself I wouldn't go and make new long stuff while Agony was still going on, but I give up. I just want something that isn't emotionally taxing and I felt like I'd end up ripping open my own chest cavity if I didn't put words on a screen. So I finally decided to give in on this idea. It's not fully fleshed out an I still gotta reread Outbound Flight before I really get into it >:{ .....but I know what I want to do with it and hopefully it'll be fun! Updates are probs gonna be slow but that shouldn't be a shock.
> 
> It's probs not perfect and I'm sure it's got mistakes, but like, my dudes, my guys, you're gonna have to point 'em out 'cause I'm so busy. Being academically successful is hard as shit yo lol. Currently unedited, I'll see if I can look at it tomorrow.
> 
> EDIT: I heckin forgot that on AO3 you gotta check the multiple chapters box so fixed that.


End file.
